


Love Into the Light

by Marvelicious (Jayjaybe)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Quasi- F/F/M/M foursome, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/pseuds/Marvelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being disgustingly in love with Steve was a fact of life, as much as anything else ever was. It’s not like Bucky thought they could actually have a future together… Until he’d lived when he should have died, Steve became a super soldier and a national icon overnight, and everything else went topsy turvy all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Into the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt asking for Bucky pining over Steve and set during the Commandos-era; the end game is indeed Bucky/Steve, though there are side pairings involving them along the way

The Commandos, as they’ve taken to calling themselves (because it’s already an open secret that Steve’s going to need a team, and no one thinks for a moment that he’ll take any random assortment of government assigned spec-ops spooks), do what they do best and commandeer an entire table within minutes of making it into the pub. They’re all still riding high on that fact that they’re alive, rowdy and boisterous, and when they invite Bucky to join them, he almost wishes he felt the same.

He waves them off with a grin and a vague promise for _later_ , neither of which his heart’s really in, but manages to get himself settled at the bar with a stiff drink in front of him before that particular facade starts crumbling. He’s overthinking. Anyone else might call it battle weariness, and sure, that’s got to be part of it - but seeing Steve again, making it out alive… It sure felt like he had nothing left to lose.

The words had nearly slipped out of him in shock when he saw Steve standing over him in that godforsaken factory.

Name. _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, but you’ve been Bucky your whole life. Sounds different from everybody’s mouth, but nothing like when Steve says it, and you don’t know if that’s just wishful thinking, but you know that you hate yourself every time you get to wondering-_

Rank. _He’s not here with you, and maybe that’s the one bright side to all of this. You’ll never get to tell him, never see him again - how’s he gonna manage the cold months all alone- but you gotta quit worrying about that. Steve’s smart, he’ll figure it out, and at least he’s never gonna go through this-_

Serial Number. _The numbers are etched in your brain as thoroughly as the memory of Steve’s smile - crooked for everyone else, tilting up more to the left, but always so big when it’s just the two of you that there’s no difference anymore. They say you’ve got to remember who you are, and you cling to the only thing more certain than the fact that you’re going to die here. It burns in your chest, a secret more potent than any of the others you’re keeping - you’re in love with your best friend, and he’ll never know._

The momentary confusion when Steve enters the pub jolts Bucky from his thoughts. He watches Steve head towards the Commandos’ table - can’t take his eyes off of him, really. Steve looks damn fine all done up in his military uniform, dress pants better fitted to him than anything he used to wear back in Brooklyn, and Bucky won’t even pretend Steve’s newfound musculature doesn’t have anything to do with the way his cock swells against his zipper. He’s not alone either. Practically everyone in the place is watching Steve, finally noticing the immense presence he commands the way only Bucky used to. He doubts Steve even notices.

Bucky turns back to the bar. As bittersweet as it all is, he can’t help grinning into his whiskey because he has no doubt Steve thinks he’s the only one who saw this coming.

He makes his way over eventually. Maybe Steve’s trying to give him a bit of space - Bucky’s fresh out of medical, and knows he’s not putting forth the effort to look social tonight - if Steve thinks he’s too washed up for this at the moment, he’s probably not far from the mark. But he cuffs Bucky’s shoulder and takes the stool beside him, taking up so much more room than Bucky is used to, and he’s willing to bet the whole pub is still watching Steve but he can’t even care because the second Steve smiles it’s like they’re back in that shitty apartment and Bucky needs him the way he needs to breathe.

“So what about you? Ready to follow Captain America into the jowls of death?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the restless worry that’s followed him around since he’d started falling behind and been strapped down to Zola’s table - that he has to get this one secret off his chest if he ever wants to sleep again without waking up sweating and more terrified by the fear that Steve will never know than if he were to somehow find out. He can’t take that one to the grave - he _can’t_. 

“Hell no,” He says, hoping it’ll say what he needs it to, and what he can’t, “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. I’m following him.” _I love you, you know that? I’d follow you anywhere if only you said the word._

He thinks maybe Steve understands. For a second there’s this look in his eyes when he nods, and Bucky swallows hard, wondering if his voice gave too much away, no matter the words. He wavers and cracks a joke about Steve’s other uniform before he can say anything in response - the star spangled disaster that it is - and the moment’s lost.

Then a dame walks in, addresses Steve like there’s all kinds of history between them already, and Bucky bites his tongue. He retreats behind a carefully constructed wall of nonchalance, ever the ladies’ man, and feels himself die a little inside by the time they’re done talking. He doesn’t even know what he was thinking.

 

“Buddy got your girl?”

The voice sounds familiar, but Bucky has to pick his head off the cool wooden surface of the bar counter before he can place it, coming face to face with Gabe Jones. He’s pretty sure the guy’s a linguist, and a ladies’ man in his own right. “Not quite.” Bucky’s too drunk to be having this conversation - not about something that could possibly get him in more trouble than he’d ever know what to do with. He barely knows Gabe from a hole in the wall.

“Oh,” Gabe says, holding up his fingers for another round of drinks, “ _Oh._ ”

Apparently he’s that fucking obvious to everyone but Steve. Well Bucky supposes he can just add a court martial and dishonorable discharge to the list of things that have so far sucked about being rescued from certain death.

“No,” He lies, “It’s not like that either. I just-”

“You just?” Gabe cocks his head to the side, grinning in a way that has Bucky’s addled brains loosening their hold over his tongue again, and he trails off into silence, excuses forgotten. “‘Cause I know a thing or two about wanting somebody you can’t have, and boy, you’ve got it bad.” Gabe shifts on the stool, makes himself more comfortable. The bartender comes and puts drinks in front of them, drifts away again, and Bucky still doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m going to hazard a guess the good Captain has no idea.” Gabe says eventually, filling the silence comfortably before it can stretch on too long.

Bucky tosses his drink back. What the hell. He laughs, something bitter and broken that’s been trying to make its way out of him all night. “Was gonna tell him tonight. You believe that shit?”

“C’est la vie,” Gabe teases, one of the few bits of French Bucky knows. 

Bucky signals for another drink, because he can still picture Steve right behind his eyes, skinny and smiling and the center of his world for as long as he can remember. “You going to be okay taking orders from him?”

The concern in Gabe’s voice throws him. Bucky turns to look at him for a long moment, and he knows his face is giving away way too much - Steve always said he wore his heart in his eyes - if only he knew - but he’s too surprised to think someone might actually care. “What’s it matter?” He says with a shrug, desperately trying to retreat back behind that wall he’s built up, “No way I’m letting him go without me - It’s not going to interfere with me doing my job, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Nah. I never thought you were the type.” _To put your feelings before your duty - to protect him, always, even now that he’s bigger and stronger than you. You’re so fucked_.

“Somebody’s got to look out for him,” Bucky justifies it, trying to explain himself before he realizes that he probably shouldn’t. He can’t seem to shut up though. “He never knew better than to pick a fight, would take on an army single-handedly if they’d all give him a go… I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve had to save his dumb ass. Patched him up more times than I care to count - every swollen lip and black eye and cracked rib, and -” And he’s lost, because Steve doesn’t need that from him anymore. Bucky doesn’t know what that makes him. “Give him five minutes to convince you that you can fly, and it won’t even hurt when you fall.”

“That doesn’t sound so painless from here.”

Bucky grins at him, sincere for the first time all night. “You signed your ass up to follow him, didn’t you? What’s your excuse?”

“Fair enough.” He’s laughing as he concedes the point, and Bucky has the strange desire to lean over and kiss Gabe square on the mouth. Maybe it’d even get Steve out of his head for a few hours. The fact that he’s drunk enough not to care about being discrete scares the hell out of him, and Bucky leans back, trying to disengage before this becomes a problem. “Listening to you talk about him, it seems like we picked the right guy to follow.”

“I’m biased,” Bucky jokes. He turns back to the bar counter and glares his drink down for a long moment, trying to decide whether it’s a good idea to finish it or not. _Probably not_ , he decides, but does anyway, grimacing as the liquor burns its way down his throat.

“Come back to the barracks with me,” Gabe says, reaching out to steady Bucky’s hand and bring his glass back to the wood before he drops it. “Get him off your mind for a bit.” The touch is fleeting, but his fingers are warm and soft - bigger than Steve’s ever were, but probably smaller than they are now. Bucky tries to push that thought back. He doesn’t need that in his head - not now and not ever. “They should be empty about now - everybody's out celebrating tonight - but I know a guy who makes a good scout if you’re worried about it.”

Bucky doesn’t even have to consider his offer. He’s been ready for an excuse to throw caution to the winds all night, even if this isn’t quite the scenario he originally had in mind. “I’m not worried about it.”

 

"This okay?" Gabe whispers, his big, soft lips pressing against the underside of Bucky's jaw. All the lights are off, both of them crammed into his bunk, and Gabe's got a hand stroking over his stomach, edging up under Bucky's shirt little by little.

It's certainly not how he imagined this. Bucky always pictured his first time with another man, well, with Steve. But he's all too aware that's a pipe-dream, and Gabe's hands are steady on his skin, coaxing a gentle sort of pleasure from him wherever he touches. "Yeah. Just," Bucky wants to get it over with, to fuck the fantasy right out of his head before it's the only thing he's got left. "Just tell me what to do."

Gabe's hands hesitate on his waistband. "Tell me this isn't your first time, Barnes."

Bucky slips a hand between them, curls his fingers around Gabe's. "Don't make me lie to you already, _Jones_. I wanna do this." When Gabe doesn't move away, he tilts his head to bring their lips together. It's gentle, fleeting, but it's still good. Bucky tries not to wonder what it would be like to kiss Steve, to have him snuggled up this close in a tiny regulation bed, barely a step up from a cot.

Gabe's fingers tighten around his, and then he's returning Bucky's kiss, catching the stubble on his jaw before their lips meet again, deeper this time. "We'll take it easy," He promises, "Just two friends giving each other a hand."

"Is that what we are?" Bucky copies the motion when Gabe undoes his pants, the hard line of the other man's cock hot against his palm even before he tugs it free of the fabric.

He laughs - "Well you're not girlfriend material." - and spits in his palm before grabbing Bucky’s cock like he does, in fact, know exactly what he’s doing.

It's quick and dirty, hands wrapped around each other's cocks until Bucky's coming all over his shirt. He bites down on his own fist to quiet the moan that desperately wants to escape him, teeth digging into his skin hard enough that he's sure there'll be marks there in the morning. 

"Fuck," He whimpers, and could swear Gabe is laughing under his breath at that, running his fingers up and down over Bucky's too-sensitive cock for another long moment before it gets to the point where Bucky can't possibly take any more. He tries to squirm away and nearly falls off the side of the bed.

Gabe's hands close around his hipbones, tugging him back just in time. "I thought you were a sniper," He says, guiding Bucky's hand back to his cock, "Shouldn't you be... stealthier?"

It takes a lot longer than it should have for Bucky to realize that Gabe's teasing him. "See if I get you off now, asshole."

Despite the threat, Bucky doesn't let his hand slow - but neither does Gabe pull his own back. If anything, he tightens his grip around Bucky's fist. "Just like that," He groans, no louder than a whisper, guiding Bucky's hand to move faster, adding a twist at the head. Bucky is pleasantly surprised to realize that he can hear the strain in Gabe's voice, a gravel to his tone that wasn't there only moments ago.

He tries to pay attention to anything else he can notice - the feel of muscles clenching across Gabe's abdomen, and the jerky little movements of his thighs where they're pressed against him. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend it's Steve falling apart under his hand, but he feels guilty for the thought almost immediately. Surely that's not fair to either of them - but Gabe is coming before Bucky can fully chastise himself for the thought, spilling hot into his palm.

Bucky wipes it off on his shirt; it's already a mess and there's no sense in dirtying anything else. "Still good?" Gabe asks him quietly. His knuckles graze Bucky's stomach as he sets his pants to rights, and that's all it takes to bring it slamming home that Steve's not here and Bucky just had his hand on another guy's dick, and no matter how stupid the idea of saving that for some day when he'd finally worked up the courage to tell Steve how he feels - there's no way to deny to himself that's what Bucky'd been doing all along.

"I think so." It wasn't like he'd been a virgin before now, or that Steve didn't already know about the girls he'd managed to talk into going all the way with him. This shouldn't feel any different.

The bed rocks when Gabe stands up. "If you need to talk, we'll talk, but this place is only going to be private for so much longer," he warns Bucky. Quiet scuffing noises as he pulls his shoes back on. Bucky zips his pants up and grabs his belt, trying to get it back together. This shouldn't be a big deal. "Before you start overthinking things, just know that I don't want to be a regret. That was fun, and I'd love to be with you again, but I'm not going to let you use me to make yourself miserable either."

Even though the room is practically pitch black, Bucky looks away, reaching for his own shoes. "Understood."

"Give it fifteen minutes before you follow me out," Gabe tells him, with no further comment. He turns to leave, a near silent footfall retreating down the length of the barracks.

"Wait - Gabe," Bucky calls out after him. He hears Gabe's quiet footsteps stop, but hesitates for a moment more, twisting the hem of his dirty tee shirt between his fingers. Being fucked up over Steve isn't any sort of excuse to leave things on that note, and Gabe had been much nicer to him than Bucky knows he probably deserved. "Thanks."

He could swear he feels Gabe’s grin through the darkness. “Don’t mention it.”

 

They take a Hydra base the next morning, bundled up and on the march long before he gets a chance to talk to Steve. Which - even if he’d wanted to - Steve slips out early and spends the morning in the war room with Agent Carter. As much as Bucky tries to convince himself that a place like that is always going to be crawling with people coming in and out, the night before is still weighing heavily on his conscience. Probably serves him right.

Secretly he’s relieved to be hanging back on this one. Bucky sets up his rifle on a convenient overlook back in the woods, then radios down to tell the rest of the team that he’s in place. “Two guard towers,” He announces, picking them out through his scope, “Can’t see what they’ve got, but two people in each.” One of the men in the furthest tower is pacing, walking back and forth in front of his companion.

Bucky’s pulse picks up with the thrill of a challenge. He trains his rifle on the still one, then waits, finger on the trigger, for his companion to walk across the line of fire again.

The glass shattering is louder than the suppressed fire of his rifle. Both men drop.

Down below somewhere, he hears the Commandos begin their charge, the element of surprise lost. Bucky twists his rifle around and takes the men in the second tower before they can raise a weapon or an alarm on his team. Two more shots in quick succession, and it’s a non-issue.

After that, he watches through his scope as they take the base. The red, white, and blue of Steve’s uniform sticks out like a sore thumb in the rubble, and it takes an unholy effort to concentrate on the rest of the team as well. As dumb as Bucky thinks it is taking a shield to a plasma cannon - or whatever the hell weapons Hydra’s using - fight, he can’t deny that it works for Steve. He fights like he never could when they were kids, and something twists up in Bucky’s stomach at the visual proof that Steve’s never gonna need Bucky to finish the fights he’s started anymore.

He picks off a few more of Hydra’s soldiers, frees up Morita and Jones where they’ve been backed up against the wall, sees Dugan trying to kick down a door and amuses himself by shooting off the lock. When he looks back to Steve, Bucky sees him throw a punch that brings him right back to their cramped little kitchen in Brooklyn, Steve standing there with a puffy lip and a look of intense concentration on his face.

_”Get your fists up higher,” Bucky tells him, grabbing Steve’s wrists and pulling them up himself, “Gotta cover your face.”_

_“How am I gonna see them then?” Steve complains._

_“Well don’t block your vision, punk.”_

They’d ended up wrestling on the floor, and even taking it easy on him, Bucky had gotten Steve pinned underneath him in record time. He thinks about that now while scanning the skirmish below. They’re wrapping this up fast, almost nothing left for Bucky to do. How easy would it have been to just tell him back then? Both of them pressed together, Steve’s eyelashes lit up by the sunlight streaming in through the window - what if he’d leaned in, ghosted his lips over the cut on Steve’s - Bucky takes another shot, bringing down one of the few stragglers who clearly thought it’d be a good idea to try and sneak up on Captain America. Not a fucking chance.

Steve looks up, and Bucky knows Steve won’t be able to see him where he’s nested, but he gives a thumbs up anyway, the same stupid, dorky kid Bucky’s always known.

 

They film some sort of propaganda thing later. Everyone’s sweaty and dirty and disgusting, but the guy with the camera says it’ll add ‘realism’, whatever the fuck he’s on about, and Bucky makes fun of him behind his back with the other Commandos.

“Wasn’t enough taking down a base,” Dugan jokes, “Now we’ve gotta make it dramatic.”

“Fuck that. I just want to take a damn shower before they’re even colder than usual.”

“Think he knows how to use that?” Jones translates for Dernier, the latter gesturing over towards where the director is trying to convince someone that Captain America should be wielding Bucky’s rifle in “preparation” to go storm a Hydra base.

“Oh hell no,” Bucky grumbles, and goes to save his gun. Aside from the fact that it’d make even less sense than the shield Steve already carries into battle, he doesn’t need anybody fucking up his scopes pretending to be a Hollywood type.

Eventually they’re all herded into place by the front of a jeep, Steve spreading out a map on the hood. Bucky sticks close by his side and wonders silently to himself how Steve managed to remember where on earth the bases were with as short a glimpse as he’d said. Lord knows he’d misplaced _everything_ back in the day.

Of course, Steve chooses that moment to plop down his compass. Even Bucky can see Agent Carter’s picture stuck to the lid for a brief second before it’s turned to face the camera, and he barely schools his expression in time. He wants to believe it’s a cute little Hollywood thing - give the leading man a beautiful dame by his side - but then Gabe catches his eye silently over the hood of the jeep. Bucky gives him a shrug, ‘What are you going to do?’, and pretends he can’t feel a thing.

“Come on guys, joke around a little, have fun with this!” The director calls out. Steve turns back to Bucky and grins, so without irony that for a moment it’s Morita’s grumbling (“I’d be having more fun if we were under fire”) that seems out of place. Steve always did that, no matter what else has changed. Just turned around and smiled like he’s got the damn sun hidden in his eyes, always throwing Bucky off his guard. It’s impossible not to return it.

There’s a smear of dirt across his jaw, and Bucky’s hand is halfway to his own mouth, ready to spit in his palm and rub it off just like old times before he realizes that might be a bit too friendly for someone to catch on film. He runs his hand back through his hair instead, no matter how his fingers long to reach out and touch. “This what you thought the army’d be like?” He asks instead. Their unit is nothing like the rest of the army, not when you’ve got everybody’s darling Captain America in the middle of things, but Bucky’s sure not going to be the one to break it to him if by some miracle Steve hasn’t realized that yet.

Steve laughs, and Bucky feels his gut clench up tight. He needs to remember they’re still being taped, needs to stop glancing toward Steve’s mouth every few seconds, but that’s getting harder and harder to remember the closer they’re pressed together between the rest of the Commandos and the more Steve keeps looking at him like that.

“Better,” He says, and Bucky believes it wholeheartedly, feels good about this war for the first time since he’d left home back in Brooklyn. Then again, Steve’s always had that effect on him.

 

They sit and talk after, just like old times. It’s the first Bucky’s gotten to sit down with him since that night at the bar back in London, since for once Steve isn’t being swamped by people asking for a hand with this or that or being called into one secret meeting or another alongside Agent Carter. Bucky wishes he could hate her - really, he does - but she’s smart and competent, not to mention really damn good-looking. Exactly the type of woman Steve deserves, even if Bucky can’t bring himself to be as happy for Steve as he thinks he should be.

His shoulder bumps up against Bucky’s from time to time, and Bucky could swear he feels the warmth rolling off Steve despite all the clothes between them. It feels good. _Now would be a great time to tell him how you feel,_ , his brain reminds him, but Bucky pushes it off. He’s already accepted the fact that there will never be a good time to have that particular conversation, and certainly not when Steve’s got himself a girl besides.

There’s always a million things he needs to say, but tonight he’d rather it be just like old times.

It’s starting to get dark before either of them says anything. “Bet you could actually take me in a fight now,” Bucky teases, thinking back to earlier. He wants to lean into Steve’s shoulder like Steve used to do to him, sitting out on the steps beside their place and watching the sky slowly bleed to black, but he doesn’t. Ever since that Hydra compound, since he was strapped down to that table and tortured and knew for a fact that he’d never see Steve again…

“Damn straight,” Steve nudges him again, jostling Bucky’s shoulder forward. “I’d offer to demonstrate, but I can’t go breaking you already. What am I gonna do without my best man by my side?” He says it with a laugh, and it’s the same kind of shit they’d say to each other back home, but all Bucky can think is _if only you knew_.

“Fuck off, Rogers.”

Steve only laughs harder, crossing his arms over his chest. “God, I missed you, Bucky.”

So they are doing this. He has to swallow down a lump in his throat, voice thick as he replies, “Yeah, I missed you too.” It’s too serious, too real. “Been awful boring over here without your punk ass to watch out for.” He kicks his feet out into the dirt and crosses them at the ankle, turning his head to grin at Steve.

“Yeah? Been patrolling every alleyway in London just lookin’ for a fight?”

“I swear to god, Steve, I’m surprised I never had a heart attack with that shit you used to pull. How the hell’d you convince anyone you should be America’s boyscout?”

He cackles, honest to god, and Bucky can’t stop himself from laughing along with him. Steve’s laughter is infectious, and Bucky thinks he’ll never quit feeling that warm, tingly feeling in the pit of his stomach when Steve smiles even if he lives to be a thousand. “I’ll never tell.”

Bucky wants to kiss that cocky grin right off his face, but he settles for half-heartedly slugging Steve in the arm. “Just saying,” he continues, “It’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, but…”

“You wanna talk stupid? Oh, how about the time you-”

“Don’t even,” Bucky groans, because there’s no way that sentence ends well. “You’re a punk, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you still love me.”

 _More than you know_. Bucky doesn’t grimace, but it’s a close thing. He can’t come up with anything witty to say to that either, and conversation falls silent. Steve’s words hang over him, and they cut much too deep without their stupid banter as a distraction. He can’t imagine how it’s even possible to want someone so much - to feel the same sort of ache in his gut every time there’s a moment like this and not just keel over one day from the pain.

Maybe because it’s balanced out by all the stupid shit that made Bucky fall in love with him in the first place.

“So,” Bucky says eventually, curiosity getting the better of him. “You and Agent Carter, huh?” He should know better; there’s no way for this to go in a direction that’s not going to make him even more miserable than he is already, but Bucky still tries to justify it to himself. It’s his duty as Steve’s best friend. And he’d rather know what he’s up against. Yeah, that’s it.

Steve’s face lights up again, another grin spilling across his lips. He looks so pleased with himself, and Bucky genuinely wishes he could be happy for him. “Beats being dragged along on one of your dates,” he teases, playing it close to the chest.

“Yeah, I bet.” He doesn’t say that the girls were never the point of those dates, or how much he enjoyed getting Steve out of the house for a few hours. He thinks about trying to teach Steve how to dance in their bedroom, yet another failed double date behind them both. Bucky remembers Agent Carter’s quip about waiting for the right partner, the way she and Steve smiled at each other like it was a shared secret between them, and yet his brain gives him the feeling of Steve pressed up against him, standing on his feet in just his socks while Bucky tried to teach him the steps. “They didn’t make you that miserable, did they?”

At least he laughs. “I wasn’t exactly any girl’s idea of a good time back then,” Steve jokes, “I don’t know how you kept finding dates for me.”

“I told them how good a guy you were,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t have it in him to lie about this too. _That you had such a big heart, could light up a room with a smile_ , “And that you had your own unique kind of charm.” It sounds like a joke, and isn’t that just the story of his life.

“Oh, Bucky,” Steve sighs, pretending to wipe tears out of his eyes through his laughter, “What would I have done without you?”

“Crash and burn, you ungrateful motherfucker. Crash and burn.”

 

It’d never been this much of a big deal. Being disgustingly in love with Steve was always a fact of life, as much as anything else ever was. It’s not like Bucky thought they could actually have a future together… Until he’d lived when he should have died, Steve became a super soldier and a national icon overnight, and everything else went topsy turvy all at once.

Bucky catches up with Gabe not long after, grabs him by the arm and tugs him behind a storage building. He kisses him before the other man can react, and hopes he doesn’t get punched for it. But when Gabe’s fist comes up, it’s to grab the back of his hair and pull him closer.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what prompted that?” Gabe asks him, breathless, when they finally break away from each other - much too soon, but they’re technically still out in the open. He glances over his shoulder back towards the more populated part of the camp to make sure no one's looking.

“Please tell me this gets easier.”

“Barnes, you sorry son of a bitch,” Gabe laughs, shaking his head.

Bucky shoves him back up against the side of the building and attacks his lips again. He wants this to be with Steve so desperately it feels like every part of him is crying out his best friend’s name, but Gabe is here and Gabe is willing, and Bucky needs to burn Steve out of his skin for as long as they can get away with. 

“Yeah,” Gabe pants, clearly with the program, “Take it out on me all you’d like.” He’s laughing under his breath, but Bucky can already feel him hard against his own thigh.

He takes a step back. This is happening - time to quit being so risky. “Know anywhere we could go?”

Gabe leans forward the slightest bit as if to follow him, but visibly thinks for a moment. “Wait here,” He says eventually, “Be better to go off base, but we need someone to cover, just in case.”

Bucky grabs his arm before Gabe can move out of range - “Who?”

“Dernier.” He pauses, a grin cracking across his lips, “Unless you’d rather tell Steve we’re going off base together. You want him to know what we’re up to?” The look on Bucky’s face must speak for itself. “Dernier it is then.”

 

They sneak out towards the back of the camp, Bucky tossing his jacket down over the barbed wire meant to block a hole in the fence. Gabe brushes it off before he hands it back. “Maybe you are girlfriend material after all,” he jokes.

“Yeah, yeah.” He doesn’t pull a face, but his tone leaves no doubt that Bucky’s not impressed, “Gonna make me your war bride?”

“I had something else in mind tonight, but if _that’s_ what you want…”

 

Something else in mind turns out to be meeting up with a pair of dames, curvy black women in nurse uniforms that have Bucky wondering what Gabe had in mind, because he can certainly think of a few things.

“Before you get any bright ideas,” he says, bumping shoulders with Bucky as they walk up, “They’re lesbians. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. Bucky, meet Chastity and Abbie.”

The four of them head to a skeezy looking hotel, the women on their arms laughing and smiling and pretending. The night clerk glances over his company and gives Bucky a long, disapproving look, but he shrugs it off. His mama always said there’s no pleasing some people, and he’s too excited to find out what Gabe has planned to spare it much thought.

 

No sooner has the door shut behind him than Gabe is offering Bucky his flask, shucking his coat and tossing it aside. Bucky takes him up on it - liquor has never seemed like a better idea - and passes it on to Abbie after a long swig.

“Nervous, soldier?” She teases him, undoing her own tie. “You boys can watch us first if you’d like.”

He’s no virgin, but he’s certainly never seen two women together before. Or had anyone watch him.

Gabe wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist from behind, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his neck. He’s warm and solid, and Bucky has no doubt he’ll be leading things every step of the way. This is so far from anything he’s ever imagined that it doesn’t even feel right to think about Steve, and isn’t that what he wanted all along. “Abbie swears I’m just her beard,” he whispers, a laugh just below his deep baritone, “But I know she likes having people watch.”

Abbie doesn’t deny it, and from the way Chastity is smirking, it’s no secret. “You’re no lady,” she says, “But I got you, so I guess we’ll just have to make do. We get the bed though.”

“Not gonna need it,” Gabe counters, his deft fingers pulling apart the buttons on Bucky’s shirt as they talk. “Now are we making love, or sitting around yapping all night?”

“Speak for yourself.” Abbie catches hold of Chastity’s tie and pulls her over towards the bed - bigger than anything on base but certainly not very large either. The sides of her shirt flutter out with the movement, only the tie keeping it secured around her neck. He swallows hard. Chastity is smiling at Abbie the way Bucky’s always wished Steve would look at him, like they’re the only people in the room, and he wonders how long the two of them have been together. Clearly they’ve made it work somehow and he wants nothing more than to ask about that - is there a chance? - but even he knows enough to keep his mouth shut now.

They undress each other the rest of the way, though Abbie leaves Chastity’s tie where it is. When she loops it around her fist and drags Chastity into a rough kiss, Bucky has no doubt in his mind why. Abbie’s other hand clutches the thick curls at the back of her neck, and Chastity’s fingertips curl against her thighs in turn.

He’s hard even before Gabe’s hand drifts lower, brushing over his cock temptingly. “They want to watch us too,” he says, following it up with another open-mouthed kiss to Bucky’s neck that sends electricity shooting up his spine.

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, turning away from the girls for the moment to chase Gabe’s lips with his own. Everything about this is new and different, but there’s a charge in the air that feels like anything goes tonight, and all of it is right in a way Bucky couldn’t hope to explain if he tried. Abbie lowers Chastity to the bed, still holding her by her tie, her other hand disappearing between Chastity’s thighs. From the sound that earns her, Bucky has no doubt that it’s good.

Gabe tugs his shirt the rest of the way off, and Bucky’s not surprised to find Gabe already naked when he turns again. It’s the first time he’s seen Gabe’s body for himself, and clearly exploring the tight lines of muscle banding his torso with only his hands to guide him didn’t do it as much justice as Bucky thought. He’s kissing his way down Gabe’s chest, tonguing hungrily at the other man’s dark skin, and before Bucky knows it, he’s on his knees at Gabe’s feet.

Up close and personal, his cock is intimidatingly large, but Bucky tries to pretend he knows what he’s doing. He gives the head a quick little kitten lick before he passes it by again, pressing his lips to the inside of Gabe’s thigh. Gabe’s hand comes down against Bucky’s head, stroking through his hair and lingering there, but he’s not directing.

Bucky can hear the girls behind him, soft little moans and wet noises that make his mouth water as much as the sight of Gabe standing at attention right in front of him, and he drops a hand to his own cock in response. How hard could it be? He glances up to see Gabe looking down at him, lips parted and a slight flush seeming to color his cheeks further. Bucky brushes his hand over Gabe’s hipbone, remembering how much he’d liked that the other night, and leans in to take his cock.

He tries to think of all the ways he likes to be touched, the things Gabe responded to last time, and sucks gently, running his tonuge up and down the underside of Gabe’s cock as he works his way down. He can’t fit all of it in his mouth, gagging when he tries, but Bucky quickly figures out that he can wrap a hand around the base to make up the difference.

“I don’t know if I believe the virginal act anymore, Barnes.” Gabe chuckles breathlessly, flexing his fingers against Bucky’s scalp in a way that has him humming with pleasure - and apparently that feels good too, because Gabe sucks in a quick breath before he continues, hips hitching to push his cock just the slightest bit further into Bucky’s mouth. “Sure you’ve never done this?”

He doesn’t know if he’s doing a good enough job to warrant _that_ , but he likes the weight of Gabe’s cock against his tongue, the way it feels sliding between his lips… He hums again, trying to take Gabe deeper and really earn his praise. “Fuck,” Gabe swears, “gonna have me coming if you keep that up.”

He’s true to his word, warning Bucky just a few seconds before he’s spilling into his mouth, hot, salty ropes of cum coating Bucky’s tongue. It’s not altogether unpleasant, but when Gabe leans over to snatch his flask from the pile of clothes beside them and offers it to Bucky, he doesn’t hesitate to wash down the taste with another long swig, spiced rum bursting over his tastebuds in its place.

His lips feel swollen, and Bucky wipes a hand over them to chase the last few traces of liquor. A long, drawn out sigh catches his attention, and he twists his head to see that the girls are still there, Chastity straddling Abbie’s thigh and rocking her hips as Abbie licks at her breasts, still controlling all of it with her grip on that tie. They’re both looking over at him, conspiratory smiles alternating with expressions of pleasure.

“That was - oh,” Chastity gasps, “Gorgeous.” He doesn’t ask why a lesbian would like watching two men. Bucky figures it doesn’t much matter anyway, and Gabe has knelt down beside him, hands running up and down his sides in a way that’s seriously distracting.

“Want me to take care of that?” He asks, nodding his head at the bulge barely concealed by Bucky’s pants, a dime-sized spot on his thigh just a bit darker than the rest where his precum has soaked through the fabric.

“Please,” Bucky whispers, and it’s drowned out by the sound Chastity makes as she comes, cut off almost immediately when Abbie tugs her close and kisses her roughly, the fingers of her free hand clutching her ass and refusing to let Chastity back off, forcing her to keep moving even as Bucky can see the ripple of her muscles clenching and releasing over and over again, hear her squealing into Abbie’s mouth. It steals his breath, and if he’s not mistaken, Chastity just keeps coming, her movements getting more and more jerky as Abbie continues to draw it out.

Gabe makes an appreciative noise, tugging Bucky’s cock free at last and wrapping a warm hand around his length. He knows already there’s no way he’s going to last, thighs tensing up as he tries not to fuck into Gabe’s hand. And Gabe is matching the pace Abbie’s setting, long, smooth, deliberate strokes that bring Bucky to the edge almost instantly, but keep him there longer than he thought possible.

“You get to stop when he comes,” Bucky dimly hears Abbie murmur against Chastity’s sternum. Her eyes flick to him instantly, and Bucky can’t tell if she’s silently pleading with him to hurry, or to draw this out as long as he can. Selfishly, he opts for the second.

He can feel the tightness in his balls and in the pit of his stomach - tension building like gazing over a precipice and readying for the jump, but so eminently more preferable. It’s a struggle to hold back, to not let himself be dragged under and away with the intense rush of pleasure, only building with every movement of Gabe’s fist along his cock.

Bucky clings to that edge for as long as he possibly can, as if for dear life. He’s not sure if his eyes are open or closed half the time, but he’s utterly aware of everything - Gabe’s deep, mostly steady breathing beside him, every little cry and moan Chastity is making and every coo from Abbie urging her on, the way all of their bodies are moving together in fragile limbo. He doesn’t want to be the one to break it.

But something has to give.

Chastity gives a long moan, her head thrown back to reveal the perfect line of her throat, and Bucky tilts his own neck in unthinking response. 

“That’s it,” Gabe encourages him, lips and teeth closing over the pulse point in Bucky’s neck, the sudden sharp contrast of pain breaking his concentration.

He feels his control slip before he can do anything about it, and then Bucky’s lost. It feels like he’s flying and falling all at once.

 

“That was… wow.”

Chastity smiles weakly before patting on the bed to invite him and Gabe up with them.

“Color me impressed,” Abbie says. Her calves are resting against Bucky’s ankles, all four of them somehow squeezed onto the small bed now that it seems ridiculous to insist on personal space. She reaches out to poke Bucky in the ribs, “You’re not so bad for a white boy.” Gabe laughs deep somewhere off to his side.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” 

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Abbie’s an old friend from back home.” Gabe says a moment later, answering something Bucky’s been wondering all night. “She and Chastity have been together for, what-”

“Four years,” Abbie interrupts him. When Bucky lifts his head, she’s smiling wide, looking over at Chastity again with that expression that sets Bucky’s heart pounding fast and his brain on a one track destination to memories of a dumb golden-haired kid. He’d give his left arm for Steve to look at him like that.

“How do you do it?” He asks before he can stop himself, all the questions he had earlier bubbling to the surface. He wants to ask them everything - what they plan to do, how they can keep this up, keep it hidden - but Bucky couldn’t find the words if he tried.

“I love her.” Chastity says softly, “and in the end, that’s all that’s gonna matter.”

“One day at a time,” Abbie agrees. “Maybe when this war’s over we’ll find a place just for us; somewhere no one knows us and no one cares how we live our lives. But I’ll say she’s my sister if I have to. We know, and that can be enough if you let it be.”

Gabe nudges him gently. “Thinking about him already?” He asks, pitching his voice low so the girls know it’s meant for Bucky only, even if they can hear him. 

Bucky smiles, because it’s better than opening that pandora’s box; he’s fucked out and truly relaxed for the first time in a long time. It feels good, and he’s not going to question it. “Always.”

 

They pack up everything in the morning, orders from up the chain placing them somewhere in the alps. “We might be intercepting a train,” Steve says, slinging his shield onto his back in one fluid motion. He makes it look so effortless, even if Bucky knows it’s probably anything but. “Either way, we’re going camping, so dress warm.”

 

They take a train of their own most of the way there. Steve and Bucky play cards with the other commandos, betting smokes and watch times. Bucky’s not sure if any of them actually smoke, but it’s practically army currency, and some habits die hard.

Steve sucks at poker, and Bucky shouldn’t find it half as endearing as he does. Steve’s too honest even at cards, and Bucky can tell from the corner of his eye the second Steve tries to bluff just by the set of his jaw. He’s trying so hard though, face set firmly with that look he gets whenever he’s made up his mind to do something. The same look he got when he decided he’d enlist in the army, come hell or high water.

He manages to drag Steve away from the game eventually though. It’s that, or fess up to the fact that he’s got a competitive streak a mile long, and Bucky knows Steve is trying to be a good example while they’re technically on a mission.

They settle down side by side, and Bucky half leans against his shoulder when Steve pulls out his sketchpad, presumably so he can see what Steve’s working on. 

“Cute,” Bucky teases, burying his feelings deep beneath a veneer of humor when Steve has to flip through three drawings of Agent Carter in a row - the last of which depicts her in the red dress Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. He could have gone his whole life without that particular reminder.

He’s not sure what else he should have expected.

When they were younger, Steve had gotten all excited about some art class or another. Then on the third day of it he’d come home all quiet and caught up in his own head; it’d taken Bucky all afternoon and half of dinner to get Steve to spit it out already.

_”They want us to draw a nude model,” Steve says, teeth grazing over his lower lip just enough to catch Bucky’s interest._

_“So? Don’t you artsy people do that kind of stuff?”_

_It takes him a long moment to realize Steve might actually be nervous. Normally he’s got more guts than anyone his size should have a right to._

_“I’ve never done that before,” Steve admits eventually, twisting his hands together. Bucky wants to scoop him up and hold him close, and never ever let go. “There’s a lot of people in the class.”_

_He doesn’t understand it - that’s not like Steve at all, but Bucky doesn’t question. “You can draw me,” he offers, tone calculatedly neutral, looking down at his plate and busying himself with his knife and fork. It’s a terrible, terrible idea, and Bucky regrets his words as soon as they’re out of his mouth, but he can’t take them back now. “Practice for the real thing, or whatever.”_

_When he glances up through his eyelashes, testing to see if it’s safe to look up, Steve isn’t looking at him anymore. The tips of his ears are pink, but he’s not fidgeting anymore. “It’s okay,” he says, “I’ll make do.”_

Bucky’s got half a mind to ask Steve how that class went, glancing over his pencil sketches of the English countryside. They’d never spoken about it again, and Bucky was always too embarrassed to ask. “You were always such a great artist,” he says instead.

Steve grins, the way Bucky knew he would, and it lights up his whole face. “Thanks.” They’re sitting close enough that he could lean over and chase the smile from Steve’s lips with his own. The thought alone is much too tempting. Bucky tugs at his collar and leans back against the wall of the train, letting his body be rocked along with the motion.

He thinks about what the girls said, allows himself one little fantasy where they stay in the English countryside after the war is won. A place where nobody knows them, and they can live their lives. _If he was mine - could I ever bear to pretend any differently again?_ But Brooklyn has always been home, and -

His reverie is soon interrupted, thankfully. 

“Can I draw you?” Steve’s voice is casual, but Bucky can hear something more beneath that, like he’s expecting to be turned down. If only he knew Bucky could never say no to him.

Bucky cracks an eye open, smiling lazily up at him. “Sure,” he says, “I’m at your mercy.”

 

It’s not until they’re all loaded onto the back of a truck en route to their final destination, up in some no doubt godforsaken snowbank, that Bucky thinks to ask what they’re actually doing here. He and Steve are crammed somewhere in the back, and by some miracle, no one’s paying them much attention at all.

“So why this particular train?” Bucky asks him, “We stealing something from Hydra?”

“Something like that.” Steve doesn’t elaborate any further, and it leaves a sour taste in Bucky’s mouth. He watches the muscle in Steve’s jaw flex.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Steve presses his lips together until Bucky can see them pale, his jaw working still. He doesn’t want to say it, whatever this is, and that alone sets something fluttering in Bucky’s gut. Surely he hasn’t given Steve any reason not to trust him, to - “We might be wasting our time out here. I still haven’t gotten all the orders.”

Orders or not, he knows something. “Are you holding back for my benefit, or is this something sketchier than usual?” Bucky asks. It’s always been his job to do the dirty work, to keep the Cap’s hands clean. He wonders how bad this assignment could possibly be. “Because you’re going to have to fill me in eventually.”

Steve closes his eyes for a long moment, but when he opens his mouth, Bucky wishes more than anything that he hadn’t asked. “Zola,” Steve says, “We have intel that says he might be on the train.”

It feels like he’s been frozen in a sheet of ice. The truck is packed full and steaming with their combined body heat, but he’s cold and clammy in an instant, trying his best not to shiver and let Steve know just how badly he’s shaken. They’d never talked about this. Steve knew better than to ask.

The doctor’s face hovers over him. _”Soon, soldier, you shall not know this weakness.”_ He think’s he’s freezing; the air turning to ice in his lungs, blood crystallizing in his veins. And then Steve is there, small and fragile, leaning over him in a dirty alleyway like this time it’s Bucky who picked a fight he didn’t have a prayer of winning.

Name, rank, serial number, and Steve’s face every time his eyes hurt too much to force back open.

“Bucky?”

It takes all he’s got to force back the memories, the echoes of hallucinations past. Bucky could swear he feels cuffs around his wrists, his chest, his ankles, but he grips his thighs and doesn’t give in to the impulse to feel for them in front of Steve. “I’m fine.” He says quickly, throwing himself back into business as brusquely as he can manage, “Kill or capture?”

God help him, he _wants_ to kill Zola. Bucky’s fingers itch for the smooth metal of his gun, but no - there’s a part of him that wants to draw it out. To tear Zola apart with his bare hands and torture him the way he’d so gleefully enjoyed from the other side.

“Capture. Phillips wants him alive if at all possible.” Something prickles at the back of Bucky’s mind, so dark and callous it scares him - _But how easy would it be to stage an ‘accident’..._

“How the hell we’re gonna get the cyanide away from him-” Steve begins, and Bucky cuts him off right there.

“Zola is a coward,” he says forcefully. _Hiding behind his machines, behind his restraints._ “We’ll get him alive.”

 

Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him the whole time they’re setting up camp - pitching tents and preparing to bed down for the night - but he doesn’t bring up Zola again. The two of them are sharing a tent, and Bucky doesn’t even bother to look away when Steve peels off his uniform and swaps it for something a bit warmer, a bit more comfortable.

He dresses as quickly as he can - it’s freezing even with a decent amount of clothing on - but Bucky, already laying back on his own bedding, still has time to take in the sharp cut of muscles across Steve’s frame. He shouldn’t be worrying for Steve. Clearly, he can take care of himself, but it’s as much habit as it is anything else, and Bucky’s been on edge since Steve told him what they’re up to.

“You okay?” Steve asks, sitting down across from him at last. He drapes his hands over his knees, and Bucky could swear he looks just as uneasy. “Whatever happens tomorrow...”

“The sooner we have him, the better.” He’s certainly not looking forward to seeing Zola again, but all of them together - Steve, Jones, the rest of the commandos - they’re unstoppable. A smash and grab for an unaugmented scientist should be a piece of cake compared to the dozens of Hydra bases they’ve taken to the ground. Bucky thinks he could do anything at all with Steve alone by his side. “If you’re waiting for me to freak out on you, it’s not going to happen.”

Steve nods, and Bucky thinks he’s going to drop it. “You never told me,” he says slowly. “What did he do to you?”

The million dollar question. “I don’t know.” It’s a constant fear at the back of his mind - that what Zola did wasn’t just torture. _”My beautiful experiment-”_ But he can’t believe that.

“Hey,” Steve says, as if he can tell Bucky’s getting sucked into his thoughts and they’re not heading to a good place, “We’ll get him.”

Bucky grins at him, more for Steve’s benefit than anything else, flopping down onto his back at long last. “Yeah, I know. Now come on Cap. Early day tomorrow and all.”

 

The last thing Bucky remembers is hauling metal. Everything aches, his head pounding and body sore, and for a long moment Bucky thinks that’s the reason he can barely move.

“Ahh, good, you’re awake.” The heavily accented voice comes from somewhere on his left, and Bucky’s first instinct is to bolt upright. His body jerks, but goes nowhere, thick leather bands biting into his wrists and ankles. The heavy strap across his chest pushes all the air from his lungs, and he falls back against the table, gasping. “Do try to relax. It will make all of this so much easier.”

He’s a small, spectacled man, looking down at Bucky with something akin to mirth in his eyes. “Let me go,” Bucky demands. The man laughs.

“That,” he says, “is not an option. Allow me to introduce myself.” Bucky can’t see what he’s doing, but his hands are moving just out of Bucky’s limited frame of vision. “I am Dr. Arnim Zola, a scientist, if you will. And you shall make a fine subject for my experiments indeed.

“You should be grateful,” he continues, then laughs in a way that has Bucky’s stomach twisting up with dread, “Assuming, of course, that you survive.”

Time jumps ahead nonsensically in fits and starts. There is pain - always pain - Bucky’s one constant. He writhes as much as the restraints allow, screams until his throat is hoarse and then until he loses his voice completely. “Steve,” he pleads, “Steve, please.” It’s the only thing he has left besides the pain.

He hallucinates that his skin has been coated in metal, boiling and bubbling as it cools, and when Zola calls him a perfect machine, Bucky doesn’t know what to believe. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispers to himself, and if that’s blood or molten ore trickling down the back of his throat, he can’t tell the difference. _That’s who you are. Whatever you do, don’t forget that._

 _Bucky. Steve calls you Bucky._ He thinks of their kitchen back in Brooklyn, when the words he was taught to repeat sound like noise to his own ears. Steve is smiling there, sketching something out while Bucky makes dinner - searing hot, rust-taste in his mouth - and there’s something he needs to say but his tongue can’t form the words. Over and over and over again, they die on his lips with his name rank serial number Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve’s saying, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the pier at Coney Island, “Bucky, come on.”

Smiling at him until he has to cover for his knees going weak.

Big and muscular and tearing a red dress off some dame with his teeth - “Wake up, come on, Bucky, come on.”

Steve really is there, big, strong hands grasping Bucky’s arms and looking down at him with his face pale as a sheet. It’s freezing cold, fever sweat evaporating off his skin and clinging to his clothes. “Steve,” he gasps, just a second before he’s tugged into a bone-crushing hug, held tightly to Steve’s chest.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, “I promise.” He sounds as shaken as Bucky feels.

“No,” Bucky pleads with him, trying to force his throat back open, make his tongue form the words he needs to say. They’re weighing on his chest, crushing him. He can’t breathe. “Steve,” he gasps, “Steve. I love you.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, but his voice is caught somewhere between confusion and relief. “I love you too.”

It’s all wrong.

Bucky struggles from his grasp. “I need some air.”

It’s even colder outside, frigid air whipping around him, the snow banked even deeper now. He’s an idiot. Bucky tries to let that sink in. He’s just ruined every good thing he ever had, and he’s got no defense left for the inevitable rejection.

“Bucky,” Steve calls out after him, and Bucky looks back to see Steve coming out of their tent too, but he can barely make out Steve’s face through the tears stinging his eyes. He wonders if he can take back what he said, pass it off as - as anything else.

“You know,” Steve says, his voice coming closer and closer. Bucky wants nothing more than to run, but he stands his ground. “I’m Captain America, not Captain Obvious.” He grasps Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s just processed the self-depreciating humor in Steve’s tone when Steve turns him around - and then Steve’s lips are on his, the tears on Bucky’s cheeks smearing between them.

He doesn’t know what to think, let alone what to do.

Steve pulls back. “Was that okay?” He asks. He sounds worried. Bucky’s lips are still tingling with the memory of his mouth. “I didn’t know if you wanted - I love you too Bucky, I always have. If only I’d known,”

He’s getting ready to start rambling. Bucky can’t help smiling, and then he can’t stop. “C’mere,” he says, “I want to kiss you right.”

 

World shattering revelations or no, it’s freezing cold, and Bucky’s shivering in no time at all. He can’t keep his hands off of Steve on the way back to their tent though. They’ve got to be quiet passing the other commandos tents - if they haven’t heard the two of them already, Bucky would be amazed - but he grabs Steve’s hand and laces their fingers together silently. He never wants to let go.

“How?” He asks, the second they’re in out of the cold, relatively speaking. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking. Bucky’s trying his hardest not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth, but he can barely believe it himself. It feels much too good to be true.

Steve shakes his head. “I didn’t want to chase you away.” He’s looking at Bucky like he’s just witnessed a miracle. “Remember, uh, George VanDyke - sixth grade? He caught me looking at you back then. Called me a fag and beat the absolute tar out of me for it.”

“I kicked his ass for that,” Bucky agrees, “ _That’s_ what he beat you up for? God, Steve, I wanna look him up and knock him out again now.”

“You were always with all those girls… I didn’t know you’d ever, well, I wasn’t much to look at besides.”

Bucky hooks a finger beneath his jaw and pulls Steve back in for another long kiss. He might have been a 90 pound weakling with one hell of a chip on his shoulder, but goddamn it, he was Bucky’s, and he never would have changed a thing. “I was looking,” he confesses, “All those girls, all those double dates, all I wanted was to be with you. Steve, you were all I ever saw.”

The face he makes - Bucky would count himself lucky if that was the last thing he saw in his life. “God, Bucky. How many years did we waste-”

“Let’s just make it through the war,” he tells Steve, because, frankly, Bucky’s not ready to start thinking about the future yet - about all the ways they’ll have to hide their feelings, their relationship, the things people will say...

He doesn’t want to hide tonight. He wants to shout it from the rooftops of their neighborhood back in Brooklyn, the mountains they’re camped out in... anywhere and everywhere because Steve is _his_.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, chuckling, “I suppose we could do that.”

“Good, now get over here.”

 

It’s too cold to do much of anything. Steve or not, Bucky thinks his ballsack might just freeze if he removed another layer of clothing. He scoops Steve up in his arms though - the way he’s wanted to all along, ever since Steve saved him from Zola’s table - and he’s not the only one holding on tight.

Bucky supposes they don’t have to say anything, but he does anyway. “I thought I was dead,” he says quietly, murmuring the words against Steve’s hair, “When you found me. I thought I’d died and somehow gone to heaven no matter how bad I loved you.”

Steve lifts his head and kisses him, but he’s silent for a long time. Eventually, he jokes, “Your idea of heaven is pretty depressing.” Teasing or not, there’s a certain vulnerability in his tone, a far cry away from the kid in Brooklyn who’d clearly never heard the word ‘fear’ in his life. Bucky considers that for a second - how Steve must have seen him - restrained, barely conscious, one hell of a hot mess.

“You were there. I had you. That’s all I ever wanted.” He tightens his hold around Steve’s waist and tries to pull him even closer. It's too serious, nerves still churning away in his own stomach, because there's a world and a war outside their tent threatening to rip them apart just by existing.

“But we’re alive.” Bucky assures them both. Despite everything. “We’re going to get Zola tomorrow, and we’re going to win the war." He presses the promises into Steve's skin, wrapping him up in the words he can finally form and desperately needs to be true, as if that could make them more tangible, more real. "And I’m never going to let go of you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was intended to be canon compliant, though it'd been a while since I watched TFA when I started writing so there are some slight (unintended) divergences.  
> Research was done as well, but I'm sure a few anachronisms slipped in anyway. Hopefully it doesn't detract from the story.


End file.
